


gun metal blue

by audentis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Assassins & Hitmen, BokuAka Week 2020, Day 1: Coffee Shop/Bookstore Au, M/M, Mild Angst, Or Maybe a lot of Angst, a little bookshop too, background coffee shop au, im sorry i cant write coffee shops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audentis/pseuds/audentis
Summary: Mundanity is a rare luxury in the reality Bokuto Koutarou lived in but, whether you were the son of an anarchist of a businessman, or whether you were a normal college student from an out-of-the-way prefecture, there was always something that could be considered mundane in both worlds.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 12
Kudos: 15
Collections: Bokuaka Week 2020





	1. what i would give for a drop of mundanity

**Author's Note:**

> Hihi! This is my entry for Bkak Week 2020. I should probably explain myself but i'll do that in the end notes :)) I'm thinking of doing some more chapters but I had to whip this up pretty fast so... Anyway please let me know if you want a second and third chapter!! Ok I'll stop rambling, hope you enjoy reading this!!

Mundanity is a rare luxury in the reality Bokuto Koutarou lived in. His reality consisted of over-the-top social gatherings with the city’s elite, stiff business meetings concerning trade wars, and headless bounties that stretched on for hours and hours on end, and of course, the piling tower of carcasses from those aforementioned quarrels. Whether you took that literally or figuratively is up to you.

Unfortunately, the lines between commonplace and pure fiction had blurred much too early in life for Bokuto that to him, these were the objects of mundanity in his life.

But whether you were the son of an anarchist of a businessman, or whether you were a normal college student from an out-of-the-way prefecture, there was always something that could be considered mundane in both worlds. In this story, it’s caffeine, and Bokuto Koutarou drank the world’s most consumed psychoactive drug like his life depended on it, which it probably did.

So naturally, everything came to a screeching halt when he stood in front of his favorite coffee shop with the giant word “foreclosure” messily scribbled onto the window in white paint marker. For most people, they could just take a quick read of the handwritten sign, sigh in exasperation at having their morning routine interrupted by some capitalist god, and move on next door to any other coffee shop in the five kilometer vicinity. Unlike most people, however, Bokuto hated the idea of going to another coffee shop that didn’t have the same nice baristas, and the same upbeat music and the same cute owl cushions.

But this was just another line of mundanity that had been obscured from overlapping with the extraordinary. Maybe he could ask his father to buy the shop as an early birthday present, was his only thought as he turned the corner. He quickly shut down the idea, after remembering his father had never bought him a single gift in his life.

The thought rapidly faded as he walked by the many shops he had neglected to give attention too, preferring the nice, quiet booth he used to occupy back in the Sundance Cafe, and one in particular caught his eye.

“The Nocturnal Cup”

Interesting. There was a big barn owl perched on the signage which was a point of consideration for Bokuto. The shop was small, but it looked homey enough. Entering the foyer-like room, he could see the shop was not as small as it seemed. The ceilings were high, and strung with fairy lights and hanging greenery. There were lamps too, positioned around the space, giving off a soft glow bright enough for you to appreciate the decor, but dim enough so it retained a snug, comfortable environment.

The counter was one of those overturned barn crates which fit well with the aesthetic. The orders were usual with little unique twists, and equally different names. Upon ordering the drink of the day, the nice barista gave him a pager in the shape of an owl! Bokuto was starting to think this wouldn’t be such a bad replacement. Just as he was making his final assessment of the place, something caught his eye, or rather someone.

Maybe the atmosphere of the cafe did something, or maybe he was just overreacting again, but the man sitting on the far corner of the shop was beautiful, too beautiful. Bokuto had fallen in love many times before, although he didn’t talk about it much since his father had raised him to think emotions and feelings were invalid, and only served as a weakness that could be exploited. Thank god his mother was normal, or else who knew what could have happened. Of course, you could only go so far to understand feelings when your family faced reality with a stone-cold demeanor, but love was always something he was sure about.

He liked the feeling of love. It was warm, and cozy, and kind of like how he felt in this shop right now, it felt like the home he never got the privilege of having. Looking at the beautiful man made him feel that warm, homey feeling again, though it was strange he thought to himself, since they hadn’t even talked.

bzzt bzzt bzzt

Ah fuck. The vibrations from his work phone passed straight through the thick cloth of his coat. He didn’t need to check, it was undoubtedly his father, sorry boss, about to scold him for not being ten minutes early. Exasperation hit hard, and in a moment of annoyance, he elected to ignore it. They had been doing this dance every day for the last four years, after all. Did he mention he didn’t have the best relationship with his boss?

Bokuto only zoned out for a few seconds but that was all it took for the man in the booth at the back of the shop to disappear. Damn it. His heart dropped a little, he had fallen in love many times, but he had a feeling this one was going to be different which was again, strange as they had never met before.

Sighing, and hoping this isn’t how the rest of his morning would go, Bokuto grabbed his order off the counter, and headed out of the Nocturnal Cup with the memory still ingrained in his mind.

Bokuto decided the Nocturnal Cup was a suitable replacement, although that sentiment might have been a little biased considering what had happened the morning before. Walking into the shop an hour early for reasons his brain wouldn’t let him decipher, he sauntered over to the counter, picked out today’s special, and flipped through his notifications as he waited for his drink, until of course, he saw him.

It was the same feeling he got the previous day, that warm, fuzzy feeling that made his heart jump with joy. Maybe his unconscious was working faster than he thought. He immediately put his phone in his pocket, making sure it was on silent. He wouldn’t lose him this time.

But before he could do anything, the subject of his enamority looked up, noticed him staring, and smiled at him? Bokuto decided that eight am was too early of a time to get a minor heart attack, or a major one. From that moment on, he knew that he was going to look back at that memory for the rest of his life, whether he managed to unfreeze enough to start a conversation with the man or not. But his unconscious did act faster than the rest of him, and so it gave his fried neurons a gentle nudge to dethaw his body.

“Hi! Is this seat taken?”

“Hm? Oh, no it’s not.”

He finally got the courage to talk to Pretty Smile-kun! Up close, he was even prettier than Bokuto could have ever imagined. With messy black hair, and wide-rimmed glasses that covered most of his face, it was like he was trying not to look pretty. If this was what he was attempting to do, Bokuto thought, this was probably one of the only things he had failed to achieve in his life.

“So, um. My name is Bokuto Koutarou! What’s yours?”

Shit. He was going too fast. Bokuto cursed at his unconscious that was probably topping 120 miles per hour on the highway right now. He had to wrestle it in if he had any hopes of getting a response.

“Akaasi Keiji, nice to meet you, Bokuto-san!”

Wait, he actually gave him a straightforward answer? Bokuto was starting to wonder whether this was real life or if he was still in his bed, dreaming and running late for work. Maybe he wasn’t using his real name? Or maybe, Akaashi thought he was deaf, and he wouldn’t hear it! Either way, the shock must have shown on his face because a smile tugged on the corner of Akaashi’s face in response.

“You looked shocked, Bokuto-san. Do you not get a response often?”

“I, um, I do, but well, you’re just really pretty, and-argh! I’m going too fast, I'm sorry!”

“It’s quite alright.” The younger man answered with a definite hint of amusement. “Thank you for the compliment, if it was one.”

“Of course it was! How could that not be a compliment? Also you look shocked when I say that. Does that mean people don’t tell you you’re pretty? Because that’s just rude! I mean you’re the prettiest person i’ve ever seen!”

“You flatter me too much, Bokuto-san. I’m sure there are other people who are better looking than me.”

“No way! You’re literally the epitome of prettiness! No one can beat you!”

“You’re too nice.”

“It’s the truth!”

They could have honestly done this back and forth for hours, with Bokuto continuing to believe every word of his response, but they didn’t have all day to just sit around. Bokuto had to report to the company, and Akaashi had to do whatever it is he does which reminded him…

“So, urm, what do you do as a job? Are you a model? That’s my guess anyway, I mean who wouldn’t want you on the cover of their magazine?”

“No, nothing of that nature, Bokuto-san. I’m a literary editor, but I'm also a writer on the side.”

“Ooohhh, that makes a lot of sense. So is that why you’re here every morning?”

Bokuto said this as he vaguely gestured around the room. Although not built until after the 10th anniversary of the shop, the library had been added in due to popular demand, and soon after became more a part of the place, more than just being an extension.

“Mhm, I like the selection here. It’s not full of archival textbooks like the library, and it's not too noisy either. The coffee is good too, so I prefer it here. How about you?”

“Me?” Bokuto asked with confusion. He wasn’t used to people asking him about himself.

“Yes, I told you about me, it’d be nice if you returned the favor.”

“Oh, um.” What could he really say about himself that wouldn’t scare a normal person away? He was the heir to one of the world’s largest security firms, his father had introduced him to one to many black market dealers, he had ordered hits, and “exterminations” as they put it on people he didn’t even know. There was nothing much to say if he wanted to keep this conversation going, which Bokuto definitely did.

“I was a business major in college, then I got recruited to work at the family business!”

“Oh? What does your family do?”

Shit, shit, shit. “Boring stuff about business, accounting, economic consultations, all that. It’s not that interesting really.”

“You don’t seem like someone interested in economics.”

“Well, family business, my bos-er, dad wants me to take over someday.”

“It must be nice to have a family who looks out for you…”

“What does that mean, Akaashi-kun?”

“Um, story for another day. I really should get going now, Bokuto-san. The office won’t like it if I was late.”

Bokuto’s heart dropped a little. He was enjoying this conversation much more than anything he had done over the past few months, or years even. It was too short, and he wanted to get to know Akaashi more.

“Will you be here again tomorrow?” He asked hopefully.

“Yes, I come here every morning at seven. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow at that time then?”

“Yeah!”

Maybe there was still hope.

“This is completely unnecessary. I can take care of myself”

“It is credible evidence from sources we’ve relied on for years. We must take the threat seriously.” said the man with the neat suit, and wire frame glasses.

“I agree with Director Arakawa, Koutarou.” The older man behind the desk pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Whether or not we have confirmed this for ourselves, this is an extremely dangerous implication that we must prepare precautions for.”

“They never explicitly mentioned me! Everyone on the Board is a target, so why am I the only one being forced to do this?” The younger yelled, throwing exasperated hands into the air.

“Because everyone else has a little common sense, and already agreed to go into protective custody for the time being.”

He shook his head. “I’m not a teenager anymore, sir. I don’t need you looking over my shoulder.”

A slam of a fist on the hard mahogany desk. The crash of a chair toppled backwards onto the floor.

“Do you not understand?! You are the heir to this company, you must be preserved at all cost!”

“So that’s all I am to you? The successor, the regent? Do you even want me to take over the company or are you just handing it over so that your competitors don’t get their hands on your wealth?”

“Koutarou, sit down.”

“No! I’m not going into protective custody, I’m not going to let you control my life like you always have.”

And just like that the conversation between the two oligarchal generations ended. Maybe the younger should have considered the offer, but past, unresolved issues clouded his judgement.

He would come to regret this soon enough, the older thought as he sat at his desk, wondering what he had done to deserve such an arrogant son. But maybe the old man shouldn’t have given up his family to worship some capitalist god.

“Good morning, Bokuto-san. Bad day?”

Bokuto did not get an ounce of sleep last night. He had tossed and turned until well into the wee hours of the morning. By the time he had fallen asleep at half past four am, he had been plagued by the incessant dreams, and an hour later, the blaring of his alarm.

“Wha-oh, yeah.” He tried for his best, encouraging smile, but the lack of sleep glaringly shown through.

“You should have slept in then. I assume you don’t usually get up this early.”

“But I wanted to see you!” He said with a small pout.

“Mm, do you want to talk about it?”

Did he want to talk about it? Could he even talk about it? Sensitive topics were normally not permitted to be even mentioned outside of HQ for the sake of compartmentalization, but he was tempted, really tempted. Maybe Akaashi could help him figure this out, but he decided against it. He didn’t want to put a target on an innocent person’s back.

“Boss is just overworking the staff again. Doesn’t really care if we have to work overtime everyday if it means making the deadline. He’s like a robot, you know? Come to think of it, I don’t think i’ve ever seen him take a proper break.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure your boss isn’t a robot. Maybe you could request a vacation day? You look like hell.”

“Maybe...argh! Why am I bothering you with my problems! That’s just rude!”

“It’s quite alright, Bokuto-san. I’m a good listener. Maybe I could help you out of whatever this is?”

“No, no. Wouldn’t want to burden you with problems that aren’t yours!”

“If you say so. Here’s my number if you want to talk.”

His number? Bokuto hadn’t even thought of asking for his number. Maybe his unconscious wasn’t going too fast after all. He typed it into his phone, and tested it out by sending a few owl emojis.

“Thanks, Akaashi-kun! I’m a spam texter though, I get carried away easily.”

“It’s alright.” The younger replied with another heart melting smile. “I get constant messages from work anyway, so it won’t be too much of a bother.”

“You must be busy at work then! Is that for work? Also who's that? Is she your sister?"

He pointed to the book Akaashi held open in his hands, with the yellowed photograph stuck in the middle of the pages. Bokuto realized just then that it was the same one he’d had with him the day before, and the day before that. He must really like it, Bokuto thought to himself.

“Her? She's not my sister." He hastily replied, stuffing the photo into his pocket." As for the book, yes it is. Research purposes”

“What’s it about?”

Akaashi thought for a moment before responding.

“A boy who lost his family growing up, and him trying to find his place in the world.”

“That sounds interesting! It has a funny title for such a nice story.”

“It’s a little off-putting, but don’t judge a book by its cover right?”

“Gun Metal Blue”, eh. Maybe Bokuto could research on what that was about, so that they could have a new conversation topic! He quickly filed it under his mental to-do-list.

Conversations with Akaashi had become the highlight of Bokuto’s day. There was something so relaxing and calming about the younger man, he couldn’t describe it. Their conversations were equally soothing, like a nice cup of tea to start your day. Of course, he had to wake up an hour and a half earlier than before, but he didn’t mind if it meant seeing his favorite person again.

Akaashi was a very interesting person to Bokuto. He never went into much detail about his life, like the rich businessman in tailored suits and sparkling flutes of champagne. He never bragged about even his smallest achievements, never flaunted his status, never pressured Bokuto into doing things for him, even if he would probably follow his every order. It was a change from the interactions he was accustomed too, a welcomed change at that. Only a month from the day they met, Bokuto could say he trusted Akaashi with his life.

Which was a rarity these days. Even then, in the cozy library that was an extension of the little, out of the way coffee shop, he could see the man leaning against the lamp post, surveying the vehicles racing up and down the road, and the lady who had been stationarily calling someone for the past hour. His father had been adamant about getting his future successor a security detail, even when Bokuto had deemed it unnecessary. The threat had never materialized after all, so why worry?

But here he was, stuck with his father’s plain clothed confederates, watching his every movement, and interaction with the outside. For all he knew, they had Akaashi on the watchlist, but he didn’t want to tell him. What if this scared him off? Bokuto was not willing to lose someone he cared about again because of his anarchist of a father’s insensitivities.

Akaashi: Bokuto-san im going to be a little late today

Bokuto: r u ok?

Akaashi: late night overslept nothing to worry about

Bokuto: ok!!!!! ill be at our usual table 乁[ᓀ˵▾˵ᓂ]ㄏ

Akaashi: cute

Bokuto walked into the Nocturnal Cup the same time he did every morning, despite knowing of Akaashi’s delayed arrival. He had managed to convince his security detail that he was going to the park for a quick jog, before slipping driving out of the back. The place was strangely empty today, he thought. Most of the usual customers weren’t at their tables, and there was only one barista today.

“Slow morning today, huh?”

The barista only hummed lowly. Weird.

He ordered up their drinks, specialty of the day for him, normal black coffee with two sugars for Akaashi. Bokuto always wondered how we could drink that stuff.

Walking through the typically crowded shop, he came to stand in front of their usual spot, and noticed something odd. In between the old worn covers piled up on the shelf sat the black and gold of “Gun Metal Blue”. Well, that was even weirder than the empty shop! Akaashi always brought the book with him, always packing it into his bag five minutes before eight thirty. At that moment, he realized he never checked off that mental note in his head.

Would Akaashi mind him touching his favorite book? Probably not if he was careful.

Mindfully setting down the hot drinks onto the table, he slid the book off the shelf. It was unlike any book he’d ever seen. Onyx black panelling accented only with the gold lettering of the title. A crimson red ribbon that served as the bookmark hung from the bottom of the yellowing pages. It wasn’t that big, or that thick, and there was nothing too remotely special about it except for the fact that Bokuto was entranced by its most frequent reader.

Opening it, it was even simpler, stark white pages, yellowing at its edges, filled with evenly printed text. He skimmed through a few of them, detailing the story of Antony, and his search for his purpose in the world. But as he started the first chapter, it became apparent the book had other ideas. Was it the wind, or gravity, or was the book alive, because it decided to dump all its pages to the left, and flip to the last page.

Well, that was rude. Bokuto thought. The last page was blank, just a wasted sheet of paper probably stuck in for aesthetic purposes. Turning it to reveal the back of the black leather cover, a card was tucked inside.

A library card? Bokuto had always thought Akaashi owned the book, so why did it have a library card in it? Did he steal it from an actual library?!

There were names written on it, dozens of them, neat script filling the individual rectangles on the form. He went through some, wondering if he knew any of them. It turns out he did, quite a number of them actually, and they were all...dead?

That couldn’t be right. Bokuto rubbed his eyes just to make sure he was reading them right. He went over the list again, even google searching some of them just to make sure he hadn’t been mistaken, but alas his fears were confirmed. The Former Minister of Finance killed two years ago in an alcohol induced car crash. A top Yakuza lieutenant killed in a syndicate-war shoot-out. Twenty-two names, twenty-two untimely deaths. He turned the card to see if there were more on the back. In the same neat script, a single entry was logged in.

Bokuto Koutarou 4/5/20

What the hell... It was him? The twenty-third name on the card was his? There was a mistake right? There was definitely a mistake. There was no way this was real, then it hit him. The threat that had never manifested, the credible intelligence that had never amounted into anything. It was-

click

The unmistakable sound of a loading gun, and the cold metal barrel jammed into the side of his skull by a gloved hand.

“I’m sorry, Bokuto-san.”


	2. the bitter taste of aberrancy

Aberrancy was not something Akaashi Keiji was born into, quite the opposite actually. His father was a surgeon, a rising star in the medical field, and the prospective head of Cardiology at the University of Tokyo. His mother was a recognized journalist for the Kyodo News Agency, something Akaashi greatly admired about her, her fearless pursuit for nothing but the truth.

And they had raised their son well, only ever giving him the love and support he needed, but it only took one blunder, one tactical oversight, to topple over the foundations of the wishful dream.

“Tokyo Couple murdered in gruesome burglary attempt.” was what the papers read that day.

“Respected husband and wife killed in own home.” was what the papers read the day after.

"Young son lone survivor of failed burglary attempt.” was what the papers read the week after.

A man tapped the shoulder of a boy who could not have been older than seven, and yet had watched from the cupboard under the sink as his parents were kicked to the floor, and their lives squeezed out of their eyes.

“Hello there, young man.” He said, with a relaxed voice, and a tone so smooth, the words seemed to just roll from his tongue.

“Who are you?” The disheveled boy asked through sniffs and tears.

“Your uncle, your parents gave me full custody of you in the event of an er, untimely demise.”

Strange, thought the boy. His father had an estranged brother in Sapporo who couldn’t have cared less, and his mother had two sisters out of the country. He had never even seen the man who claimed to be his uncle.

Sensing the brewing doubt, he cupped the little boy’s hands with his soft leather gloves. “It’s gonna be ok. I’m going to keep you safe.”

What could two law-abiding citizens have done to so anger the gods of the underworld? Had they just been at the wrong place in the wrong time? Could they have been targeted because of their fame and power? But the little boy had not yet known the implications, that the roots went far deeper than anyone could have imagined, but he would know soon enough.

“Why are you taking me away? Is the bad guy gonna come back?”

“Yes, yes they most definitely will, and we do not want you to get hurt, do we?”

He brushed off the dust from his fine-tailored black suit, and patted the younger on the head who thought there was a strange air around the man. How he always kept his left hand free of objects, and how he wore a dinner-party suit and expensive waxed shoes to an especially bloody crime scene. But he would know soon enough, that those were just mannerisms, and the man was not at all as tailored as he seemed. There was the devil lurking in him, and he was merely its host.

“Compassion is a hindrance to the job.” crack. “Attachment is an object that merely exists for exploitation.” blam. “Emotions,” He said, as he wiped the gunpowder of the muzzle of the silencer. “are just another human flaw that should be eliminated at all cost.”

“And why must we do that?” The boy of sixteen asked calmly, as he took the body by the arms, and dropped him into the serene waters of the dock.

“Because they will make you doubt yourself, doubt the mission, doubt the cause. That will just make life unnecessarily more difficult than it already is.” The mentor said coldly, flashing an impassive glance at the grimy shoe descending below the black waves.

So the pupil made impassivity his speciality, and dispassion his brand. Push it down and bottle it up, because whatever obstructed your view was meant to be brought down at all cost, was it not?

But could one truly be emotionless? That was a question for the higher-ups in the universe. For even his vacantly-gazed teacher had fallen to the affable laughter of ardor. A hypocrite, not just in deed, but in every right. It was a woman apparently, and he, of all people, had been so enamored, he had been led off to his death in some unknown foreign lands, with a foreign language, and foreign people, and nothing but his lost morals to save him, and save him they had.

“Akaashi-san, why should we not feel things?” The young girl asked, wiping tears from her eyes. Her arms were bruised yet again, and her hair was a ragged mess.

“Because, Ira-kun. They bind us, blind us, they deter us from what we are meant to do.” He said evenly, too evenly, like it was a required memorization task that he had mastered.

“But emotions are what makes us human, are they not?” She replied, crystal drops dripping down her face as she looked on at the grizzled man lying in the middle of the street.

A new question, what did it mean to be human, thought Akaashi. Could he even be considered human? With the blood of dozens, and the weight of a thousand bullets, it would be a hard pass on the notion that a man capable of killing without a sparing thought could be considered to have any humanity left in him.

“In this age, it is imperative to detach. Why waste your time on being affected with the bad of this world, when ignoring it is simply easier?”

“But it’s what sets us apart from them!” She cried, trembling at each syllable.

Akaashi sighed, and bent down to grasp her quivering shoulders. “Nevermind, a young child like you should not dwell on these things.” He said, as stoic as ever. _A young child like you should not exist in this world._ Was what he actually wanted to say, but the past and emotions were relative things. The threads of both intertwined at various points along the yarn string, and the art of ignoring the things that made your heart jump, and eyes water extended beyond the present.

Push it down, bottle it up, because whatever obstructs your view should be eliminated at all cost.

“Maybe I should have listened to you, Ira-kun.”

He smiled a tearful grin at the battered photograph. Despite being separated by years, and old stock paper, the girl’s smile still shone through the pressed creases.

“You were always wiser than your years.”

_Ten years old._ That was much too young, he thought. Imagine what she could have been with five more, ten more, twenty more, but the world was a cruel place, and reality was an unrinsable stain. He thumbed the new fold that had appeared on the upper right corner. He should have taken better care in stuffing it into his jacket, but the risk had been too great unfortunately.

Stop it. Compassion is a hindrance to the job. Attachment exists only to be exploited. What’s done is done. There was no use in dwelling on that you cannot fix.

“So it was you.”

The trigger whispered sweet nothings into his ears, promises of less suffering if he would just end it now. The irony of life, built to last so long, yet a twitch of a finger, the inch of the trigger, and just like that, a soul was gone.

And so there Akaashi was, with a finger on the inch of the trigger, ready to kill his fiftieth.

“Why, Kashi? Can you at least tell me that?”

Compassion is a hindrance to the job. Attachment exists only to be exploited. What’s done is done.

“I can’t.” He whispered.

“Was it something I did?” The other continued. “Is it because of my dad, the company? Please, Ji. You owe me this much.”

Compassion is a hindrance to the job. Attachment exists only to be exploited. Akaashi was getting sucked down the rabbit hole. Pull the trigger, pull the trigger, a twitch of a finger, an inch of space, pull it, pull it, and end it.

“I’m sorry.”

_blam._

“They’re coming.”

The barista laid slumped over the counter, blood dripping down the usually polished wooden surface.

 _blam_.

Another, but that one was for good measure.

“Who exactly are they?” Bokuto asked, confused.

“My handlers, or his, I don’t really know.” He seized the dropped phone from the man’s hand which had a partially dialed in number, four numbers, two being the area code. He threw the phone away, decoding would take too long, it would not serve much purpose now.

“Out the back, if my guess is correct-” He pointed towards the kitchen as frantic rapping at the door was heard, shouts to open up or be runned down. “Which it is, you won’t stand a chance, even if I try to reason with them.”

“You’re staying?”

“It’ll be better if I make an excuse for the mess.” He said, vaguely gesturing towards the dead corpse, and the irremovable stain on the paneled floor.

“They’ll kill you!”

Akaashi smiled, the same gorgeous and heart-melting smile that had caused Bokuto to trip head first into the pits of despair. And it was like he was back in that dreary Monday morning, half awake, half disappointed, but later on feeling like he had just seen the face of an angel. It was like none of this had ever happened.

“No they won’t. I’m much too valuable to them to risk losing.” He said, with a rehearsed air of confidence. But like a broken ally trying to convince him of their loyalty, the words swam and halted and swam and halted, and stuttered and haltered in the air. Even they were unsure of their true intentions.

“Trust me on this, Bokuto-san. I owe you that much.”

_“Open the fucking door! Shit, get the battering ram.”_

Akaashi looked at him with sad eyes, as if he had already prophesied what would happen. “Go now, I’ll meet you in the park within the next hour.”

“The park’s huge, which part?”

“Don’t worry about it.” A gun was loaded just as the first strike of metal came. “I’ll find you.”

“Promise me.”

No response was uttered, no sound was made. _No promises in war,_ they had always been told. It was always a difficult concept for Bokuto to grasp, even after years and years of the broken record droning off in his head. But war was the saboteur of fragile vows that were meant to be broken.

_BAM._

Splinters came flying through the air, impaling anything in its path. The door creaked open, and frantic footsteps clambered to their location. Twenty or so, all fully armed, there was no way they were going to be able to fight the intruders.

“Go, now!” Akaashi yelled, waving him off. Without another word, he darted towards the paced advance, just hoping, praying that Bokuto had managed to sneak out alive.

Bokuto was an optimistic person. He couldn’t do anything about it, he had just been built like that. Maybe that was what kept him hanging on for so long, that little glimmering hope that told him there was still something worth fighting for. Maybe there was a view past the glass windows of the thirty-first floor, or the walls pushing towards him.

Bokuto valued trust, that was the other thing about him, the one thing that might have rivaled his unbounding sanguinity. But belief in certitude was merely a figment of wishful thinking, and whether he had previously been able to recognize this or not, the cold barrel of the gun had cast off any lingering doubt. The empty promise had just solidified it.

With his hands painted with the blood of the dozens, and the wails of the anguished, maybe he was never supposed to taste a hint of mundanity, nor was he destined to see the view past the glass windows or escape the crushing walls. But he had dared to dream for another chance to relish the flavour of normalcy, and dare he did, and down he came again.

He had dared to hope, which was a different matter, a more painful endeavour at that. And hope he did, and hope he got, but as quickly as his fingers had curled around its wrists, his grasp slipped, and down and down he fell again.

Tears flowed, palpable tears, burning and wet streaking to the grey pavement below. For at the evocation of that first heart-melting smile on that dreary Monday morning that had tripped him head first into this pit of despair, two gunshots rang through the air, and he knew he would never taste mundanity again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thats a wrap for gun metal blue :D hope you enjoyed reading as much as i enjoyed writing!!
> 
> if you want to scream at me:  
> Twitter: @sakuspvce

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of creative liberty was taken in creating this so if that hurt you i'm sorry...This was actually intended to be fluffy but um...yeah as you can see I'm kind of an angst machine :( 
> 
> if you want to yell at me for hurting you  
> Twitter: @sakuspvce


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